Whatever Will Be
by newyork24-7
Summary: A re-imagining of the tension and budding relationship between Sister Bernadette and Dr Turner where she is not diagnosed with TB.
1. Chapter 1

**So I was re-watching the 2nd series the other day and as much I love how they brought Sister Bernadette and Dr Turner together, it did occur to me that her being diagnosed with such a deadly illness kind of shocked them both into action and I thought it would have been quite interesting to see how they would have overcame their problems if this wasn't the case.**

**Which brings us to this story. It picks up right after the TB screening, but Sister Bernadette's x-ray is clear.**

* * *

"I think it's safe to say that today was a roaring success," Sister Evangelina sighed, slapping her hands against her ample hips and giving a small stretch as she continued, "That queue was a thing of beauty."

Sister Bernadette stifled a laugh at the reverent tone to the older woman's voice, she did love order and more than that she adored being the one to instil it. As she ducked her head to avoid being caught, she couldn't help but catch Dr Turner's gaze, and her smile widened as she saw the grin on his face, the sight of it sending the strangest sensation shooting down her spine. She looked away, her cheeks colouring and heating. "Yes, well it did help," she finally replied carefully.

"Help," Sister Evangelina scoffed. "It made all the difference, it's no good having these mass screenings if you can't get people organised enough to keep them going through at pace. Although it would have been preferable if it had ran at a separate time from our clinic," she added meaningfully.

"I agree, Sister, of course I do," the doctor replied, forcing himself to look away from the young, blushing nun, lest his preoccupation with her was noticed. "But as we asked for the screening as a matter of urgency it would have been foolish for us to then start dictating dates."

"Humph, well let's try not to repeat it anyhow." She gave another groan as she looked up at the clock. "I need to get back, I'm first on call tonight." She glanced over at Sister Bernadette, asking, "Will you manage?"

"Of course," she assured her easily. "It's only the cups left to wash, and I'm sure that won't prove too much for me. You go ahead."

"Very well." She gave a curt nod. "I'll see you back at Nonnatus. Good night, Dr Turner."

"Good night," he muttered as he shrugged off his white coat, placing it haphazardly on the coat rack. He sucked in a deep breath as he heard Sister Evangelina's heavy footsteps cross the floor, watching as Sister Bernadette turned her attention to the cups, filling the large sink with warm water and adding a liberal amount of liquid soap. The heavy double doors clanked in the background, signifying the elder nun's departure and finally he felt able to talk to her, his tongue finally coming free from the roof of his mouth. "You were a great help today," he told her sincerely.

She glanced up, her cheeks still tinged pink as she offered him a small, gracious smile and replied, "Thank you, but I did no more than anyone else."

"I don't think that's strictly true, I saw you, putting people at ease, making sure that they did not let fear stop them from carrying through with the x-ray." He brushed his fingertips against his thumb as he continued, "You have such a way with them, I probably shouldn't admit this to a nun of all people but I envy you it."

She let out a small trickle of laughter at his confession. "At least it's not the worst of the bunch. But either way you have absolutely no need to feel it, I've seen you ease the worry of so many of your patients," she assured him, her tone sincere, earnest. "You're a very good Doctor, and we'd struggle to find another who would match your dedication to the Parish."

"High praise indeed," he answered after a moment, his eyes fixed on her face. She looked so very young and yet she seemed to be one of the wisest people he knew, at least she seemed to know exactly what to say to him, no matter what the subject. He should really be leaving now, he thought to himself, his work for the day was done, and yet he couldn't. It was wrong but all he wanted was to spend some time alone with her, some time getting to know a bit more about the woman behind the habit. Definitely dangerous, he had no business even trying to find that out, and yet his next words slipped from his mouth unthinkingly, "I'll give you a hand cleaning up."

Her head tilted. "Oh you don't have to," she assured him. "I'm sure you have more important places to be."

"None that I can think of, anyway you know what they say, two sets of hands are better than one. You can wash and I can dry."

A small smile spread across her features again, she should tell him to go, should push him away, her feelings were confused and her mind troubled enough as it was but instead she found herself replying, "Very well then, if it will see us both home quicker."

He deftly undid the buttons at his cuffs and pushed his shirtsleeves up to his forearms, and Sister Bernadette found herself watching him, her eyes fixing on his arms, noting their solidness and the smattering of dark hair that decorated his skin. Inhaling sharply, she looked away, what was the matter with her? Why did this one man seem to throw everything she had thought she had known and wanted into sharp relief? She did not want to dwell on any possible answer to that, and instead busied herself with the washing. Her breath caught again as he moved behind her, reaching past her shoulder to grab the tea towel before settling close to her side. "Do we know the results of the screening yet?" She asked suddenly, work was a safe topic for them both and would hopefully keep her mind too occupied to think about anything else.

"From what I can gather there are a few cases in the early stages and some slightly further on." He gave a weary sigh, "I shall receive the full results in the next week or so, and then I have to deliver the news."

"As wretched as that will be, it is better that they know now, so that they can have some hope of a successful treatment."

"Yes, I keep telling myself that, but the reality of having to break such news to so many families..." He tailed off, shaking his head.

"I am sorry."

"It is not your doing, it just seems needlessly cruel." He glanced over at her. "How do you keep your faith? After all we have seen, I admire it, but I admit that I cannot understand it."

"I...I don't think I can answer that," she admitted after a moment. "At least not satisfactorily, all I can say is that sometimes, not all the time, it helps to believe that God has a higher purpose for us all, that no matter how impossible it may seem, there is a reason for everything."

"And when it doesn't help?"

"Faith does not spare us pain, it is simply there to give us the strength to get past it."

"If only you could bottle it," he joked weakly.

"I think that would defeat the purpose somehow," she replied as she placed the last tea cup on the draining board.

"Yes, I suppose it would rather."

The following seconds passed in a comfortable silence before Sister Bernadette asked, "How is Timothy?"

"Very well, he can't stop talking about his triumph at the three legged race, I believe that you are his favourite person at the moment. He was so pleased that he's yet to mention the fact that I missed it."

"Well, as I've said before children are very resilient."

"Yes, well he's had to be." He caught her gaze and gave a shrug, "Neither of us can change what's already happened."

"No, but it doesn't stop it hurting though."

"No, but time does," he told her, only realising as he said it how true his words were. He did not miss his wife any less, but the pain was no longer so acute. When he thought of her he was finally able to smile now, and he did not spend every day dwelling on her absence from it. He had finally moved on, he realised with a start. "And Timothy and I rub along quite well together, most of the time," he added wryly. "When I don't try and cook." Sister Bernadette laughed, and he felt himself smiling along with her, she looked so carefree when she did so, so young and so very pretty. He placed the last cup on the tray with the others. "Done," he remarked needlessly.

"Yes, so it looks as though we are both free to go." Her blue eyes twinkled as she asked, "Will you be cooking tonight?"

"No, it's been a long enough day without subjecting us both to that. It'll be fish and chips for us."

"I feel we'll soon have to be lecturing you on the merits of a healthy diet," she teased.

"I know the merits, I just can't seem to provide the result," he admitted with a rueful grin on his face.

She did love seeing him smile, she realised with a jolt, seeing the laughter lines that crinkled around his eyes and mouth, the way he looked so much younger, transformed from the over-worked Doctor into just a normal man. Her fingers itched to fan themselves against those lines, and she looked away again, shocked at the route her mind had taken. Muddled, she turned away from him.

"Are you feeling unwell?" He asked, his voice lowering in concern as he watched Sister Bernadette's face pale and she suddenly twirled away from him. He reached out carefully, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.

"No," she replied quietly, taking in a deep breath and steeling herself before facing him again, feeling his hand fall from her shoulder and inadvertently brushing against her arm. "I just..."

She tailed off suddenly when his hand pressed gently against her forehead. "You don't feel warm, you do look quite flushed though," he remarked, his eyes studying her intently. Her mouth felt dry and she watched as he seemed to catch himself, realise what he was doing. "I'm very sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"It's quite alright, but I feel quite well."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it."

Her breathing growing heavy, her eyes flickered upwards to where his hand was still resting against her skin, the warmth of his hand seeping though her.

He followed her gaze upwards and realised that he was still touching her, he began to draw his hand away when he saw her lick her lips, and heard her breath catch and instead he drew one finger carefully down her smooth cheek, watching as her eyes fell shut and she turned her face into his touch. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone, marvelling at the perfection of her skin.

Her eyes opened, bright blue meeting his, and he could see the haze of desire clouding the intense colour. He couldn't help himself, he moved closer to her, his face dropping as hers turned up to meet him. She sighed softly, a noise of contentment as his lips brushed gently against hers, the softest most fleeting of kisses.

For a brief second they both just stood in their embrace, her hand shaking as she reached up and drew her thumb across the lines that fanned out from his eye, giving into the temptation she'd had earlier. He caught her hand gently, fingers caressing her wrist before his head turned, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. She shivered under his touch and he felt his stomach kink at the thought of her wanting him, he felt so weary and care-worn so much of the time now, and yet when she touched him he felt like a young man again.

He wasn't sure who initiated the following kiss, but it was much more than a momentary touching of lips this time. Her lips soft and warm, parted under his, her breathing snatched and uneven.

She let her hand curve around her back of his head, pressing herself up onto her tiptoes, wanting to be closer to him. She could not even describe how she felt, just that she did and in that instant, for that moment the confusion that had plagued her was gone. The arms she had so recently admired were wrapped around her, surrounding her in warmth, holding her against the solidness of his chest, he made her feel so wanted, protected.

His hands shifted, moving, caressing her waist, her face and then brushing gently against her habit. Her habit. She jerked back in horror, shame suddenly flooding through her. The moment was gone. She couldn't meet his eyes, she heard him breath in, knew that he was about to talk, to apologize no doubt, and she couldn't bear it, she didn't want him to be sorry, she was the one who should be that, and so she ran. Ran from the hall, from him and everything he made her feel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Possibly a bit waffly and heavy on internal thought, but then the problem with writing is that you can't see the small nuances of facial expressions.**

* * *

Her legs burned as she pedalled as fast as she could, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the parish hall as possible, as if speed and distance would enable her to leave what had happened behind her. Tears stung at her eyes, she was so very confused, what had happened hadn't felt wrong and yet it was. She could almost still feel his hands burning through her skin, his mouth on hers.

She shook her head, it was wrong, so very wrong she reminded herself urgently. Drawing closer to home, her pace quickened and she swung round the corner, narrowly missing running down Fred. Her hands shook as she jumped off her bike. "I'm sorry, so very sorry," she spluttered out.

"That's alright, Sister, no harm done." He gave her a warm smile. "Although I hope you weren't rushing home for cake, from what I can gather from Sister Evengelina's yells, Sister Monica Joan has already had it."

"Right," she nodded "I'll remember that," she mumbled, his words rushing over her, not one of them registering with her.

His head tilted as he stared at her quizzically, scratching the side of his head as he asked, "You alright, Sister Bernadette?"

"Yes, yes," she assured him hurriedly, making her way past him and up the stone steps. As she opened the heavy wooden door she could hear Sister Evangelina's roars echoing down the hall as she raged pointlessly against yet another missing cake. She ignored them, her fingers fumbling with the catch of her cape; it took a few seconds, her frustration growing until she thought she might scream, when finally it loosened. Pulling it from around her shoulders, she hooked it neatly on the coat rack.

The noise of the rabble drew closer, this time it was the chatter of the young nurse's, she couldn't face them, and she just couldn't. They would have so many questions if they saw her like this, questions she couldn't face, couldn't answer.

She made for the chapel, seeking solace, seeking the answers that she'd sought for weeks and hoping that perhaps tonight they would miraculously appear. Kneeling in front of the alter, she clasped her hands together, muttering softly under her breath, "Forgive me, Father. I...I'm so confused, I don't know what to do."

She squeezed her eyes shut, the silence echoing around her. She had never felt so alone, she had always found comfort in prayer and yet now, when she felt as though she needed it the most there was none to be found. It felt as though nothing could heal the ache that sat constantly in her chest, weighing her down. "Please," she murmured again, "Please show me what I should do."

The ache in her chest intensified, her head pounding and her eyes stinging as she fought her urge to cry. She bit down on her bottom lip, and she could swear that she could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers, she had never wanted as much as she had in those few moments. Lust, she thought belatedly, lust was a deadly sin, they had even skimmed the topic of sinning when they spoke. Was that what this was? A test? It felt like more, but then she had never lusted after a man before so how could she truly know? When did lust become love? And did it make a difference as to what it was? After all she had promised herself to God and regardless what label she pinned to this, she was still forsaking her vows.

The coldness of the floor sank in through her dress, chilling her skin and still she did not move, she couldn't. She needed clarity and this had always been where she had found that, surely it couldn't fail her now.

* * *

As he watched Sister Bernadette rush from the room, Patrick Turner sank back against the wall, closing his eyes as he heard the soft, hurried pad of her footsteps, followed by the loud clunk of the door that signified that she truly had left. That should not have happened, he thought to himself and yet it had, and more than that it had made him feel euphoric. His pulse felt as though it were thundering in his ears, his hair felt ruffled where her fingers had threaded through it and he couldn't help but replay the sound of her soft sighs of pleasure.

Blinking his eyes open, he rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. It was of no use standing around here, she wasn't likely to come back. He reached for his suit jacket, shrugging it on and fumbling in the pockets for his cigarettes. Pulling out the packet, he turned it around in his fingers, remembering when they had shared one, remembering the way she had taken a few small puffs, almost savouring them. He had thought for years that he knew her and yet in the last few months she had continually surprised him. He craved her company, he saw the kind looks she bestowed on his son and it made his heart ache all the more.

He shouldn't want anything from her, he knew that, of course he did, he was no fool and yet the knowledge didn't stop him. It was insanity, even if she wasn't a nun, she was so much younger than him, such a pretty petite thing underneath the bulk of her clothing, she shouldn't be interested in him, and yet she was. She wanted him and that thought made him feel more alive than he had done in a long while.

Except he couldn't ignore the fact that she was sworn to a higher purpose, and even though he had never truly held onto any type of faith he had to respect that. He had felt wretched enough the last time and he had simply kissed her hand, he couldn't seemed to stay away though, like a moth to the flame, she drew him in.

Staring down at the cigarette packet, he pocketed them again. It was no good standing here, it wouldn't solve anything, that being said, he wasn't sure what would.

* * *

"Chip?" Timothy asked, tilting the paper wrapping towards his Dad.

Looking up dazedly, Patrick blinked at his son. "No," he replied after a minute, he nodded down at his own dinner, which he'd yet to touch and added, "I have plenty."

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "But you've only had a bite, thought there might be something wrong with it."

"No, no, it's fine." He picked up a chip as proof of point and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

Timothy's eyes narrowed as he stared at his Dad thoughtfully. "Are you sad? You look sad."

Reaching out, Patrick ruffled the young boy's dark hair. "No, I'm not sad, just thinking."

"What about? It doesn't look like anything nice."

Some of it was nice, exceedingly so, that was part of the bloody problem, he thought to himself ruefully. "It's not bad," he finally commented. "And anyway, how could I be sad when I have you?" He gave a small smile, as he added, "Now eat your dinner."

Obligingly picking up a chip, Timothy told him through a mouthful, "You look like a Sheppard that's lost his sheep, that's what Granny Parker used to say."

"Did she?" He mumbled darkly, he'd never had any issues with his mother in law but he didn't like the idea of her discussing his problems with Timothy.

"Yes, I heard her day it to one of her friends."

"Ah," his irritation lessened slightly. "You know that you shouldn't eavesdrop, or talk with your mouth full."

"I know," came the sullen reply, accompanied by an eye roll that Patrick was sure his son must have down to perfection now, after all he practised it often enough. They lapsed into silence for a moment before Timothy asked, "Are you thinking about Mum?"

"No," he replied honestly, shaking his head. "When I think about your Mum, I think about the good times, I don't feel sad thinking about her, not anymore."

Staring at the chip in his hand for a few moments, he finally replied, without looking up, "I don't either, not really. I still miss her sometimes but I don't," he frowned and his lips pursed before he continued, "I don't get as upset as I used to." He finally glanced up, "Is that bad?" he asked.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Patrick shook his head. "No, it isn't bad. Your Mum would hate us to be unhappy."

Timothy nodded, turning his attention back to his dinner, his questioning apparently at an end. Staring down at his own dinner, Patrick forced himself to start eating, noticing that his son smiled into his dinner as he did. This was no good, he thought to himself, how long could he really continue down this road? She would never, could never be his and it was agony to dwell on any possibility that she could.

"Did you see my X-ray?" Timothy asked suddenly, drawing him out of his own mind once more.

"Of course I did, and you have nothing to worry about." He had asked the technician to alert him immediately of anything came of either Tim's screening, or those who worked in Nonnatus House, and he had been relieved when everyone had came back clear.

"Can I see it?"

"Why would you want to?"

"Because I want to see what it looks like, you know, my skeleton. Did you know that the human body has 206 bones in it?"

"Funnily enough I did," Patrick replied with a grin, "but did you know that when you're born you have about 300 bones."

Timothy's eyes widened. "No, so what happens to the extra ones?"

"They fuse together as people get older."

"Wow..." Timothy muttered. "The body's quite interesting, isn't it Dad?"

"It is," he agreed, looking at his son fondly. They didn't often get the chance just to talk, away from the stresses and strains of everyday life.

"So, about my x-ray?"

"You can't see it," he told him gently. "It's already been sent away with the rest, I'm afraid."

"Oh," his little face dropped with disappointment, before he gave the smallest of shrugs. "I suppose it was really busy today, and it would be really difficult to find mine, wouldn't it?"

"It could be."

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Timothy scrunched up the paper of his now finished fish and chips and reached for his Dad's swiping a few chips neatly off the plate. "I saw Sister Bernadette today," he told him.

Patrick cleared his throat almost awkwardly as he replied, "Yes, yes you would have done, she was helping with the screening."

"She's the one who told me about the bones," he informed him happily. "We couldn't talk for long though, I got called in and when I came out she was with someone else."

Looking at the way his son's face wrinkled at the statement, he asked, "Was there something you wanted to talk to her about?"

"Our medal, the one we got for winning the three legged race," he clarified.

"Yes, I remember."

"Well I was thinking that because we both won it, maybe we should share it and take turns of keeping it."

"That's a very nice thought."

"Yeah, well I wouldn't have won it with you," came the innocent reply. "You really were hopeless."

Letting out a small snort of laughter, Patrick told him, "Then I suppose that you're secretly glad for once that I got called away."

"Only because Sister Bernadette was there, I like her."

"Yes," he mumbled, watching as Timothy pinched more of his chips. "Yes she's very...nice," he finished lamely, unable to think of the words he wanted – not that he should be saying them if he did. "She's a very nice person."

"She's funny as well, and she makes me feel better when you miss things."

Out of the mouth of babes, he thought sadly. "You know I don't want to miss anything," he started awkwardly.

"I know, but you're busy, and it's nice to have someone there when you're away," he admitted in a small voice. He looked up and gave a small shrug as he added, "You don't have to feel bad, I like spending time with her." Taking one more chip before pushing his chair away from the table he concluded, "I'll ask her about the medal the next time I see her."

Patrick gave a small nod, watching as his son darted from the table, belatedly calling after him, "And go for a bath."

The mumbled reply was lost to him, and he wasn't sure whether it had been an agreement or a refusal, and he couldn't quite bring himself to go and chase him, not yet anyway. His mind was back on the matter of Sister Bernadette. Timothy liked her, and he was obviously moving on from his Mum's death, he might not be opposed to the idea of...of what? He asked himself in irritation, she was a bloody nun! Why did his brain refuse to reconcile that?

* * *

Sister Bernadette had prayed until the coldness of the chapel had seeped into her bones, until she couldn't stay there any longer. Her knees had ached when she'd finally moved, but her mind was as troubled as ever.

She turned onto her side, staring at the unadorned wall across from her. Closing her eyes she could almost feel his arms around her again and she sighed softly, the only time she didn't feel quite so confused and upset was when she thought of him, when she ignored the obstacles and just focussed on him and how he made her feel.

Pressing her fingertips to her mouth, she fell asleep thinking of him and what had transpired between them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for all your reviews so far :)**

**I do love hearing your thoughts.**

* * *

"Sister Bernadette!"

She turned to see Timothy Turner racing towards her, a bright smile on his young face. He drew to an abrupt halt, almost falling over his own feet as he tried to steady himself and stop himself from toppling into her. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she helped him balance himself. "No need to rush," she assured him. "I'm not about to disappear."

He grinned up at her. "I know." He scanned the quietening clinic and asked, "Are you busy?"

"We're always busy, but clinic's almost finished so I have some time to spare, only for you of course," she replied with an air of conspiracy.

If possible, his smile widened. "Good, because I wanted to talk to you about our medal."

"Did you now?" She led him to a set of seats and sat down next to him, asking seriously, "So what was it you wanted to say about it?"

He drew the tarnished, metal medal out of his pocket almost reverently. "I wondered if we should take turns having it? Since we both won it."

"That's very thoughtful of you, but I think that perhaps such a fine item deserves a place of honour, and I feel that it is much more likely to have that with you."

His head tilted, his lips pursing together thoughtfully as he pointed out, "But then you'll never get to see it."

"I'll know that it's there though," she assured him, "And that is more than enough for me." She reached out and gently pressed his fingers closed over the treasured trinket. "So, I would like you to keep it."

Timothy smiled up at her. "Ok then," he replied, tucking the medal carefully back into his pocket.

"Now, I hope that you didn't walk all the way here by yourself?" She saw him duck his head, his cheeks flushing pink with guilt.

"Well..." he drew out the word as he looked for the best way to plead his case. "Technically I didn't, because Jack had to meet his mum here, she was taking his sister to get weighed, so we walked together."

"I suppose that isn't quite so bad, as long as you're both carefully, we don't want you hobbling in here with broken bones," she smiled. "Especially not now the x-ray van has gone."

"Did you know that when a baby's born they have 300 bones?" He asked her suddenly.

"I didn't, no," she replied. "I knew that some bones fuse together as you get older but I certainly didn't know the number. Where did you learn that?"

"My Dad told me last week." His mouth twisted thoughtfully. "I'd quite like to tell him something he doesn't know for a change."

Laughing lightly, Sister Bernadette patted his hand. "I'm afraid I can't help with that, I think that any medical facts I tell you, your Father is likely to already know."

"That is annoying," he sighed.

"I'm sure," she chuckled. "So what have you got planned for the rest of your evening?"

"I have Cubs later tonight, had to put my uniform in my school bag because I'll probably just have to go back to Dad's office until then," he pulled a face at the thought. "He makes me clean stuff."

"Not the most fun, I agree, but it does make you extremely helpful."

"And extremely bored," he muttered, kicking his feet off the legs of the chair.

"Well then, perhaps, if your Father agrees, you could take tea with us at Nonnatus House, I'm not on call tonight so we could walk together and then I'll bring you back in time for Cubs, I promise."

"You can't get me there any later than Dad does," he joked, but his slightly sullen expression had cleared and he beamed at her. "I'll make sure I ask him." He glanced up, scouring the room, spotting his Father and shouting before Sister Bernadette could stop him, "Dad! Dad!"

She winced as she saw Dr Turner's head jerk up, a frown crossing his features as he caught sight of his excited son and made his way over to him. She felt her heart start to thump against her ribs, she had to admit that in the last week she had somewhat avoided him, while at the same time wishing that she could be that close to him again. Her skin flushed pink, her stomach swooping with some strange sensation.

"Timothy," he hissed, "Whatever it is, I'm sure that there's no need to shout. I'm at work."

The little boy's smile faded quickly. "You're always at work," he replied crossly. "If I was to wait until you were finished, I'd never get to talk to you."

He shifted uncomfortably at those words. "If you need me then I'm here, just don't run around screaming at the top of your lungs. Now what is it?"

"Sister Bernadette has asked me for tea, can I go?"

Patrick shifted his gaze to the woman in question, noting that she wasn't quite meeting his eyes, in fact she wasn't looking at his face at all, instead she seemed to be staring at her interlinked hands. He had scarcely spoken to her since their kiss, and any conversation exchanged had been solely about work. "Are you sure?" He asked. "I would hate for us to put you out."

Finally she lifted her head, and he felt his breath catch in his throat as her blue eyes met his. "It's no trouble, I can walk him back in time for Cubs, and I'm sure he won't eat us out of house and home."

"You quite clearly haven't seen his appetite in action then," he joked weakly, relieved when she smiled.

"I'm quite sure that he can't be as bad as Sister Monica Joan, she can sniff out a cake at fifty paces."

"Well, I suppose we'll see. I can't let you walk him back though, it will be far too dark."

"I've been out in darker, and it's only five minutes."

"I'll pick him up," he declared decisively. "It's generous enough of you to have him, I can't let you go any further out of your way."

"You're not, truly."

"So I can go?" Timothy interrupted.

He gave a small nod. "I don't see why not, I'll collect you later tonight, I have a few house calls to make first."

"You won't be late, will you? He asked on a groan. "Akela is always telling me off for being late and it's always because of you."

"I won't be late," he assured his son.

Timothy tugged on Sister Bernadette's sleeve. "So when do we go?"

She laughed again, and Patrick found himself savouring the sound, her laugh was huskier than he'd ever thought it would be, a sound he'd do anything to hear again and again. She gave his son a soft smile as she assured him, "Not long, I'll go and finish up and then we can go."

Her head was ducked as she got up, and he could not help but step forward, out of Timothy's earshot and called out softly, "Sister."

She turned, her eyes meeting his. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Thank you," he told her sincerely. "Sometimes I admit to being at a bit of a loss as to how to keep Timothy busy in between school and Cubs."

"And I suppose being so busy doesn't help."

"No, it doesn't," he conceded.

"Well it really is no trouble, Timothy is a delightful boy and I enjoy his company." She took a deep breath as her eyes met his again. "I have to get on," she told him hurriedly. "I don't want to keep him waiting."

"No, no of course not," he remarked. As he watched her go he realised that he was actually slightly envious of his son, he easily gained her smiles, her kind words whilst she could barely look him in the face.

* * *

"He's late," Timothy groaned. "I knew he would be."

"I'm sure he has a very good reason," Sister Bernadette replied, trying to placate him.

"He always has a good reason," came the grudging admittance, "But that doesn't stop me from being told off."

She gave a soft sigh, it wasn't easy or fair on either of them, and she knew how hard Dr Turner tried, could see how the little boy loved his Father and craved his approval, but there was no routine in their life. Getting to her feet she told him, "Come on, I'll walk you along. If we're quick then you should be on time."

He hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding his head in agreement. "I'll get my coat."

Following him out, Sister Bernadette fastened on her own cape and then reaching forward, neatened the collar of his coat when she noticed it had folded in on itself and then straightened his cap. "Much better, you look very smart now," she told him.

His small face broke into a proud smile. "So we can go then?"

"Of course." She held the door open for him, shivering slightly in the cold September air as he rushed past her, darting down the front steps.

* * *

He was late, again and he had no doubt that his son would go to great pains to point this out to him. So it had been with a slight reluctance that he had headed to Nonnatus House to collect him, only to find that both he and Sister Bernadette had already left.

Muttering under his breath and cursing his lack of timekeeping skills, he made for his car. He didn't like the idea of her making her way back to the convent on her own. It was foolish of him, he knew she would be perfectly safe, after all no one around here would dream of touching either the Nuns or the Nurses when they did so much for the community, but that was of no comfort to him.

He saw her rounding the corner of the church hall, her arms wrapped around herself, protecting herself from the particularly bitter night's wind. Pulling the car up to the kerb, he saw her stop suddenly, recognition crossing her face. As he stepped out, she told him, "Timothy is already inside, and he was on time." She offered him a somewhat weak smile, unsure as to whether or not she should be making a joke on such a matter.

Much to her relief a guilty smile crept across his face, and he ducked his head with a dry chuckle as he admitted, "Yes, much to his dismay, timekeeping has never been my strong suit." He tapped the roof of his car adding, "Now after all you've done for us, you must let me give you a lift home, it's cold out."

She hesitated, part of her was desperate to spend more time in his company but the other part of her knew that it was most likely a foolish move to make. Looking up she saw the earnest expression on his face, the slight strain to his smile as he searched her face. "It's not far for me to walk," she hedged uneasily.

"I know that," he admitted, "but it would truly make me feel better if you would accept."

Shivering again, Sister Bernadette scanned his face again, his dark hair was even more tousled than ever and he looked so very tired, it made her heart ache for him, and suddenly she found herself quite unable to refuse him. "Alright then, I suppose it would be nice to get out of this wind." She walked slightly stiffly towards the car, still feeling slightly uneasy about the position she'd put herself in, and yet when he rushed to open the car door for her, she looked up at him again and on seeing the relieved smile on his face she felt her doubts fade.

As he slipped into the driver's seat, he asked her, "Did Timothy behave himself?"

"Oh yes," she told him earnestly. "He was a delight, you needn't worry on that count."

"Good," his expression relaxed slightly, as he tried and failed to start the engine, his hand faltering slightly on the gearstick.

Reaching out, she touched his hand gently, her fingertips pressing against the back of his hand, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the iciness of hers. He didn't pull away from her though, instead his eyes met hers as he turned his palm around and enclosed her fingers within it. "Your hands are freezing," he muttered softly.

"I'm sorry," she replied, her voice almost a whisper.

"Don't be."

"I just..." Her voice becoming slightly stronger she tried again, "I just wanted to tell you that shouldn't worry as much as you do about Timothy, he is a very intelligent, polite boy, you have done a wonderful job with him, even if you don't always feel it."

"You think so?"

"I do." She stared at their interlinked fingers, biting down on her bottom lip as she added, "Perhaps it is not my place to say."

"Never think that," he replied firmly, squeezing her fingers carefully within his. "Your words have brought me greater comfort than you could possibly know."

"I'm glad." She couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from their hands, the sight of her hand, so tiny compared to his was thrilling. Really she should pull away, but it felt too good, the comfort that such an innocent touch seemed to offer her was astounding, it was the balm to her soul she had been looking for in prayer and had been unable to find.

"I have wanted to speak to you for so long," he told her raggedly. "To offer my sincerest apologies, I overstepped the boundaries last week and-"

"Don't," she whispered wretchedly. "Please don't apologise, because I don't want you to be sorry about what happened."

"Don't you?" He asked, his heartbeat picking up pace, it would be foolish of him to hope and yet he found himself doing so anyway.

"No," she finally admitted. "I know that I should, but I just can't. The truth is the only time I don't feel so alone, so confused, is when I'm with you."

Moving his hand from the steering wheel, he twisted in his seat as he cupped her chin, gently encouraging her to look at him. "I feel entirely the same way."

Her face broke into a relieved smile. "I know I shouldn't be, but I'm glad, so very glad that you do."

Patrick didn't know what to say, the words stuck in his throat, and anything he could think of sounded too trite and nowhere near enough to express how he felt in that particular moment. Any words he wanted to say though were lost when they heard the loud laughter of an approaching group.

The abruptly, and immediately broke apart, belatedly remembering propriety. Sister Bernadette's hands rested on her lap, and he could see the slight tremor to them, could feel that his hands matched that. Wordlessly he started the car to take them on the short journey to Nonnatus House.

They travelled in silence until he drew up outside the front doors, where she whispered, "Thank you, Dr Turner."

"It was the least I could do." He watched in mild despair as she made to leave the vehicle, slipping away from him once again. "Sister Bernadette," he said suddenly.

She turned, blinking at him unsurely as she asked, "Yes?"

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, or to make you feel...pushed in any way, I just want you to know that if you want to talk to me, about anything then I'll listen."

Sister Bernadette felt almost overwhelmed by his offer. "Thank you," she repeated. It scarcely seemed enough to say but it was all she could manage. She smiled shyly before finally opening the door and stepping out of the car, her step ever so slightly lighter than it had been in a long while.


	4. Chapter 4

**In my - very humble - opinion, it is so much easier to give into temptation when you have already done so once.**

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews so far, I'm afraid the next chapter will be a few days, so I leave you with this turning point...of sorts.**

* * *

Her voice shook slightly as she sang, the words in the hymn of her devotion to God almost sticking in her throat. She felt somewhat cast adrift from him, as though he had abandoned her, she had went to him seeking answers, seeking solace and she had found none from him, instead finding it in Dr Turner. Even before she had began to feel drawn to him she had had doubts about her life, about everything, but at no point had her time in prayer delivered her with any answers.

But was it all a test? She wondered. Was it a test of her faith? Of her loyalty? God tested his followers to determine if they were worthy, and if that was the case here then she would surely face the fire. She should be on her knees asking for penance and yet she wasn't. Her head ached with it all, this was the only life she really knew, she had been so sure of her calling when she had entered into the convent and now, now she was so very unsure.

As the session finished, she made to go towards her room, but Sister Julienne's gentle voice called her back. "Sister Bernadette, I would like a moment of your time." She waved towards one of the small pews, sitting down beside her, smoothing out her habit, waiting until the footsteps of the others had died away into silence before she spoke, her head tilting in concerned sympathy. "I haven't had the chance to speak to you again, time does have a tendency to run away with us."

"It's quite alright. We have been rather busy of late."

"That's no excuse," she replied. She placed her hands over the younger woman's, her eyes narrowing in concern as she continued, "You haven't came to see me again since our last discussion, I had hoped that perhaps the situation had resolved itself, but I can see tonight that that is not the case, and I was wondering if you were able to talk about it?"

Sister Bernadette turned her face away from the concerned expression on her friend's face, fixing her eyes onto the stained glass window instead. Would she be so wonderfully supportive if she knew the confusing feelings she had towards Dr Turner? "I don't know how to explain...where to even start," she finally replied. Even if she left out what had transpired between them, how could she begin to explain how she felt when she saw the young Nurses laughing and joking together, when they went out and enjoyed themselves? How could she tell Sister Julienne that she even doubted God's love for her? That she waited for answers that didn't come, for peace that never materialised. Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Sister, so very sorry but I can't," she admitted, her voice breaking as she spoke.

"I do not mean to push you," the older woman told her, despair at witnessing her friend's agony written across her face. "I simply wish to assist you in any way I can."

"That's just it," Sister Bernadette admitted as she turned her tear stained face towards Sister Julienne. "I don't know how you can." She squeezed her hand. "But I ask you not to let it trouble you too much-"

"How can I not? I see you're suffering and I wish to ease it."

"I understand that, but as we have always said time will right all things."

"Yes," she smiled encouragingly, "time and God."

Her head ducked slightly. "Yes," she replied, her eyes rising up to look at the cross that adorned their alter, that slow, inexorable wave of guilt rising up within her once again.

* * *

As she made her way down the quiet corridor, Sister Bernadette found herself feeling oddly excited, like a child the night before Christmas. It was foolish she chided herself silently, after all, all she was doing was delivering clean equipment to the Parish doctor, it was a perfectly normal occurrence, one that was repeated quite often now that the autoclave in his surgery had malfunctioned again. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel this way - almost giddy - even though the thought of seeing him away from work, away from everyone else was invigorating.

She bit down on her bottom lip, she seemed to swing between feeling utterly wretched and guilt ridden to euphoric about the way he made her feel. There seemed to be no middle ground, but all she knew was that when she was in his presence she felt less tormented, it might not ease it entirely, there was still that voice in the back of her heard, whispering that she shouldn't be doing this, but it so often seemed to disappear when she was in his presence, only to return the moment she let her feelings show.

He was sitting at the desk in the small makeshift office he very occasionally used, his eyes scanning over a sheaf of patient's notes, concentration etched across his features. At the sound of her footsteps he looked up, reaching forward with a smile of welcome, taking the proffered bag from her, "Thank you, I really do appreciate this, I know you all have enough work to be getting on with."

Sister Bernadette gave a small shrug, "It is no trouble, after all we have to sterilise our own instruments, a few more make no difference, and Nurse Noakes is due back next week, so our workload should be slightly lessened."

"Perhaps, but I'd feel much better if the health board dealt with that autoclave, they've taken it away but it will be another week or so before it gets back. Still," he glanced down at the sheets of paper that covered the desk, "being here gives me a chance to read over some notes."

"Is that from the Thompson baby?"

"Yes, not the most pleasant reading," he admitted, "but I wished to read over what transpired before I arrived, just in case anything ever comes of it."

"How is Mrs Thompson?"

"Stable, and I can see from this that Nurse Franklin acted quickly and decisively, I have no doubt that the baby would have died without her intervention and we most likely wouldn't have been able to save the mother." He rubbed at his eyes, as he straightened the papers together and shut over the manila folder they were enclosed in.

"She is a very competent midwife."

"You all are." He gave a sigh as he checked his wrist watch, "I better get home, or I'll have a hungry nine year old snapping at my heels."

She gave a small laugh, but her eyes raked over him in concern, he looked so very tired. "What are you having tonight? Hopefully not more fish and chips."

"No, I thought maybe scrambled eggs on toast, but I'm not sure Timothy will be so keen, the last time I made it half of it stuck to the pan and the rest of it tasted like rubber; his words," he added wryly.

"Oh dear," she chuckled, "perhaps the time has come for you to learn how to cook, at least the basics."

"I know, I really should, he's already complaining he'll be malnourished at this rate." He shook his head. "My son really does seem to have a flair for dramatics."

She wetted her lips nervously, before offering awkwardly, "If you'd like...I mean if it would help I could write down some simple recipes for you."

Patrick looked up at her in surprise. "I didn't know you could cook."

"Well," Her hands fidgeted together nervously, "I have to admit that I haven't done so in quite some time, but I'm sure I can remember the basics, it's a bit like riding a bike, you don't forget these things."

"I wouldn't like to put you to any trouble."

"If it was any trouble then I wouldn't have offered," she assured him. She gave him a small smile, her nervousness fading ever so slightly, although her heart continued to hammer against her chest as she continued, "After all we can't have you lecturing patients on the importance of diet when you don't follow your own advice."

"No, I suppose not," he remarked, smiling, his head ducking slightly, causing his dark hair to fall across his forehead. Her fingers itched to push them back, to smooth away the worry lines she so often saw etched across his skin there, when he looked back up at her, telling her, "Well if you're able to then I'm sure Timothy will be forever grateful, as will I if it saves me listening to his harsh reviews on my cooking."

"From the sounds of things, you deserve it," she teased lightly.

"I'm sure he would say the same thing," he replied. He loved seeing her smile, loved the way it made her eyes gleam, he would see her smile at patients, at the babies at the clinic and it could brighten up his day, make his steps that little less weary, but when her smile was directed at him he felt as though he'd been graced with some sort of priceless treasure. He should be leaving now, should be saying his goodbyes and getting on with the rest of his day, but all he wanted was to spend a little more time in her company, where they weren't in work mode. "How have you been?" He asked suddenly, "We haven't really spoken for a while," he continued, cursing himself for such a poor conversation started, really he said the most ridiculous things when faced with her, he still dwelled on his idiotic comment about not being able to find a tie. She left him feeling like a nervous, stuttering teenager again.

She could point out they spoke almost every day, but she knew what he had meant and so she simply replied, "I've been fine, I..." She tailed off and her eyes flickered upwards as though seeking assistance before suddenly telling him, "I feel guilty," she admitted suddenly.

Patrick's eyes crinkled in concern as he took a step closer to her. "You have nothing to feel guilty about."

"I feel so confused so much of the time, about how I feel..." the words for you sat on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed them back, instead continuing, "...about everything."

He reached slowly, unsteadily for her hand, giving her the chance to pull away from him, relieved when she didn't. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. The truth is, that being with you makes me feel...less confused, and then I feel guilty again because that's not the way it should be. I should be taking comfort from God, from my sister's but I can't. I can see the concern on Sister Julienne's face but there's nothing I can say, because how could I possibly explain this?"

Swallowing heavily, Patrick stared into her earnest gaze. "I never meant for you to feel so wretched-"

"It's not you," she assured him, "I've felt like this for a while, before you...before we..." She gave a mild shrug with a humourless laugh, "I'm not even sure how to describe it."

"Neither am I," he admitted. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that if she gave him the chance he would spend every day proving it to her, but he couldn't put that pressure onto her. If she had doubts about her calling it would be wrong of him to push her into anything. It made him feel oddly relieved though that out of everybody, she confided in him. He looked into her face, noting how it was slightly flushed from her unexpected confession, and slowly but surely he stepped even closer to her, his arms slipping around her, holding her close. Her head rested against his chest, her hand resting against his arm. "Do we need to describe it?" He asked, his voice hoarse. "We're not doing any harm."

"We kissed," she whispered. "I'm a Nun, I'm not supposed to."

"I know," he soothed her. "But surely God forgives your mistakes."

"If we repent, and I don't think I want to," came the quiet admittance.

Patrick looked down at her in surprise, she had previously told him that she didn't regret what had transpired between them, but her words still shocked him, although he had to admit to feeling a small thrill of delight that she felt such a way. She stared back at him and he couldn't help himself, his mouth lowered, brushing against hers.

This time there was no hesitation on her part, she kissed him back immediately, her grip on his arm tightening as she moved further into his embrace. Unlike last time this was no fleeting caress, there was a sense of urgency, and his hand stroked at her hips through the rough material of her habit, pulling her tight against him.

She gasped against his mouth, a sound of shocked excitement, and she ran her fingers through his hair, a silent encouragement for him to continue. He lifted one hand, stroking his slightly roughened fingertips against the soft skin of her neck, drawing a quiet moan from her, the sound reverberating against his mouth. Neither could say what they felt and so it was all they could do to show it.

* * *

Sister Monica Joan hummed quietly to herself as she walked down the corridor, where could she possibly have left that prayer veil? If she didn't have it for Compline then no doubt she would have to listen to Sister Evangelina lecture her on looking out for her belongings. Oh but she got so frustratingly muddled sometimes, memories slipping from her mind like water slipping over stones, only to return sporadically; much like the tide she mused. She gave a small tinkle of laughter, enjoying her own comparison.

Her habit drifting out behind her slightly as she wandered aimlessly from room to room until she stopped suddenly in the doorway of one. Her head tilted at the sight before her, of her youngest Sister in the arms of the Doctor. Something tugged at her mind before recognition slipped away again and she shook her head; her prayer veil was not in there. A smile spread across her weathered face, of course, she thought to herself, she'd folded it away in her bedside drawer. Much relieved she turned and went on her way.

* * *

They had turned slightly, and Patrick couldn't be sure when. He pressed her gently back until she was leaning against the wooden cabinet. He broke the kiss, their harsh breathing reverberating in both their ears. He stroked at her cheek as he looked at her drinking in every nuance of feeling that danced across her features. Leaning forward, he kissed the corner of her mouth, savouring the way her lips twitched into a smile at his caress. Slowly, reverently, he kissed the angle of her jaw as his fingers continued to move against her soft skin he began to trail light, butterfly kisses down her neck.

She pushed her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead when he found a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. Her back arched, her eyes opening momentarily and landing on the open doorway. "The door," she told him, abruptly breaking away, moving to the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall, her legs shaking as she struggled to catch her breath.

He mourned the loss of her closeness, but even more he hated the indecision and the confusion that was back in her eyes. "I shouldn't have," he shook his head.

"You were not alone in your actions." She looked at him wretchedly, never had she felt so alive, so wonderful and secure as she had in his arms, in those precious moments. A single tear slipped from her, she had not wanted to stop and that was wrong of her. She had chosen this life, she had nothing to offer him and to keep going back, to keep accepting this kind of comfort from him, subjecting him to the moral guilt afterwards was so very wrong of her.

Patrick reached out, brushing the tear away from her cheek, the moisture streaking against her skin. "Please don't, I could not bear to know I have made you cry."

"You haven't," she tried to assure him. "But I cannot do this, it is wrong. I am the one who should be sorry, so very sorry. I will not trouble you in this way again. Goodnight Doctor." And with that she hurried from the room.

He watched her go, felt that he did a lot of that these days. He did not know what to think, how to feel, he did not want her to go, but he could not begrudge her her decision.


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter was not originally in the line up, but I felt it too soon to jump into the events of the next one and so this was born, and it has refused to co-operate.**

* * *

Sister Bernadette stared into her bedroom mirror, studying her own features, searching them, scouring them for any signs of a change. She felt so different, so unlike herself that she felt that surely it must be reflected in her face. There was nothing new there though, she was looking into the same face as ever. How could it be that she felt so changed on the outside and yet look no different?

Lifting up her hand slowly, tentatively, she drew one finger across her mouth. In the last few days she would have sworn blind that she could still feel the pressure of his kiss. Perhaps it was simply a guilty conscience, she mused. A frown flickered across her face, she felt guilt, after what she'd done how could she not? But it was not guilt that tore at her so acutely, that made her feel sick to her stomach, made her heart ache and her mind restless. She wished she knew what it was that caused that particular agony, if only she knew then perhaps she could begin to rectify it. Prayer and meditation helped less with every passing day, if anything it left her feeling worse, tore at the gaping wound. She felt abandoned, although after the way she had acted perhaps that was her penance.

Her finger rested against the corner of her lip and then trailed to the corner of her jaw and back again. His kisses there had been chaste – especially in comparison to the heated kiss they had shared moments before – and yet her heart felt as though it had skipped a beat. If anything it had almost felt more intimate, she'd felt worshipped by him, treasured and as though she could do no wrong. Her hand drew away from her skin as though she'd been burned, it was wrong, she was wrong.

Turning hurriedly away from the mirror, Sister Bernadette stared towards the pile of papers that were sprawled across her small writing desk. Each small sheet of paper had a recipe scrawled across it, and with every word she'd written she had debated whether she should continue. She had told him and promised herself that she would not put herself in his way again, and surely this counted as involving herself with his life. Then she would think of his sad smile when he spoke about his perceived failings towards his son and Timothy's small, earnest face and she would pick up her pen again, her doubt assuaged for a short while.

Even now as she organised the paper into a neat pile she felt that cold trill of doubt creep up her spine. Perhaps her offering would be unwanted now, a strange interruption as they tried to rebuild their life as a family. But then she had promised him, given him her word and she did not want to back away from that. She wanted so desperately to help him, to improve both their lives, but in a way that was different to how she felt about the needy families that littered this parish. She could hardly describe it, did not want to think about it, because it led her mind down paths that she could not face thinking about. They were both agony and ecstasy to her. As much as she struggled to be in his presence, to cut herself so completely out of not only his life but also Timothy's was near enough unbearable.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she tried not to dwell on that thought. To continue the work she had set her heart and mind to, she could not expel him from her life, which meant that she could still comfort Timothy whenever he required her, if she were honest with herself she would never dream of pushing him away, if he needed her comfort, her friendship she would offer it unfailingly, this offering was simply that, a way to make his life that tiny bit easier. Just because she could not trust herself around Dr Turner, it surely did not mean she had to pull away from his son, God would surely not condemn her for comforting the boy, regardless of her feelings towards his father.

Her mind made up, she pushed the recipes clumsily into an envelope, sealing it before she could change her mind, and hurriedly scrawled 'Dr Turner', across the front.

* * *

She could hear the excited yells and chatters of the cubs as they rushed through the main hallway of Nonnatus House, their feet pounding against the floor, echoing around the draughty space. At the sound of them, Sister Bernadette smiled at their enthusiasm, the way they breathed life into the old building.

Pausing in the doorway, she watched as a couple ran past her, a banner trailing out behind them as they squabbled good naturedly. Her smile widened when she caught sight of Timothy Turner, stumbling over a string of coloured flags.

He let out a large, pained sigh, staring down at the offending item and muttering under his breath as he attempted to untangle to string from around his ankle. Stepping forward, she remarked cheerfully, "Good Morning, Timothy."

As he looked up and saw her smiling at him, he flushed red with embarrassment at his current predicament. "I dropped them," he explained needlessly, "and then tripped."

She dropped down to her knees, her fingers deftly untying the awkward knots and loops that had formed in the line as she replied, "Yes, these things can be highly impractical, they're not really transport friendly."

Being at an age where he cursed himself every clumsy movement, the young boy looked relieved at her statement, giving a nod in agreement as he attempted to gather the bundle back into his arms. "They're for Nurse Noakes coming back, so you can decorate the house," he informed her.

"That's very nice of you all," she remarked. "You'll have your Akala back before you know it."

"Yeah, it'll be really good. She's nice, isn't she?"

Her smile widened as she thought of Chummy's ever cheerful, always well meaning nature. "She is, and I'm sure she'll have thought up a lot of interesting activities for you to do whilst she was away."

His brown eyes lit up in eagerness. "And she'll be able to tell us about lions and tigers." He gave a reverent sigh. "Imagine seeing a real one, I've only ever seen pictures in books."

"Well I don't think they'll ever roam about Poplar," she mused, her eyes twinkling, "although there's always the zoo."

Timothy looked up at her with wide eyes. "I didn't think about that!" He admitted on a deep gasp. "Would they have a lion do you think?"

"You know I believe they do, and I've also heard rumours of an elephant."

"Wow," he murmured, the thought of such exciting animals racing through his mind. "I'd like to go there."

"Maybe one day you will, you can start saving for a ticket," she suggested.

"Would you take me?" He asked suddenly. "I mean I could save enough for both of us," he stammered nervously – he was not sure if Nun's were allowed to have money.

Sister Bernadette felt her mouth open and close, she most likely looked like a landed fish she thought blandly, but she was stunned by his request. As gently as she could, she told him, "I think that's something your Dad might like to do with you."

"I know he would, but he would never have time," Timothy told her, he didn't sound sad about this statement in the slightest, he knew his Dad's job and he knew the commitment of it. He couldn't even get him to Cubs on time, never mind take a whole day off to take him to the zoo. He tilted his head as he took in her expression, the flash of sadness in her eyes at his words and for once the young boy felt as though he were missing the vital piece of a puzzle.

"I'm sure that he would make time," she finally told him softly.

Timothy gave a slow nod. "Maybe, but you could still come too." He frowned again, "Or are you not allowed?"

She swallowed heavily. "It's not as simple as that," she told him. "I have responsibilities here, I've made vows and chosen to live this life." The words flew automatically from her tongue and never had she so resented them.

"Oh." His face creased as he took in her statement, tried to decipher just how that was different from not being allowed and if truth be told failing miserably. He looked at her again, telling her kindly, "If you'd like, if I ever _do _get to go, I'll tell you all about it."

He was relieved to see her smile again as she replied, "I think I would like that very much, although I do know a little something about lions already," she told him teasingly.

"What's that?" He asked, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

"Well a lion's roar can be heard up to five miles away," she informed him, watching with delight as his eyes widened as he took into account how far away that would be in relevance to where he was standing now. "And..." she added, "a lion's heels don't touch the ground when they walk."

"So...they walk on their tiptoes?" He asked, a large grin spreading across his face, as he imitated the movement, rising up onto his own toes. "I wonder if my Dad knows that?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well I'm going tell him and find out," he declared decisively. "Thank you Sister Bernadette."

"My pleasure," she beamed. Decisively, she reached into her pocket, grasping the envelope she had been keeping on her the last few days in case she should come across a chance to pass it onwards. "Timothy, I was wondering if you could do me a favour?"

If anything his smile widened, "Course I will."

"I wondered if you could pass this onto your Father for me." She handed over the thick envelope.

A look of puzzlement settled on Timothy's face. "Will you not see him at the clinic today?"

"I might, but the clinic is so busy that it's not a guarantee." She hoped the Lord would forgiven her the small lie, the truth was she didn't think she could face him in a setting that even slightly differed from the professional role she had to fulfil.

Timothy gave a nod and tucked the envelope into his back pocket, he wasn't quite convinced by her explanation but he couldn't think of another reason why Sister Bernadette wouldn't want to give the letter straight to his Dad, so he simply replied, "Ok."

"Well, I better let you get back to work," she told him. "We want to give Nurse Noakes a proper welcome home, so I know how important those flags are."

"They are," he grinned. "I'll see you soon though," he told her eagerly as he bounded down the corridor to rejoin his friends.

* * *

"Right, bath and bed," Patrick told his son as he hung up his hat and coat, a grumbling Timothy behind him.

"But I'm hungry," his son protested.

"I thought your Gran fed you?"

"She did, but I'm hungry again."

Patrick gave a sigh. "Go for your bath, and I'll make you some toast."

"Alright," He put one step onto the stairs before stopping and calling, "Dad!"

"I'm almost right next to you," he snapped. "There's no need to shout." He watched as Timothy's face crumpled slightly at the sharp reprimand and he wanted to kick himself, there were days where he seemed to constantly say the wrong thing, and it would appear that this was one of them. He softened his tone, asking, "What is it, son?"

Timothy scowled at him, as he thrust a thick white envelope at him, telling him, "Sister Bernadette asked me to give you this." Once it was out of his hands, he turned and stomped up the stairs, muttering under his breath as he went.

Patrick stared at the envelope, turning it round and round in his hands as he moved into the living room. He wondered what could be in it, he had seen her at clinic today and she had been the consummate professional, but their sense of camaraderie had vanished. Perhaps it was a letter condemning his actions, he felt as though he deserved some form of punishment. He may not have forced his attentions on her – he could never dream of doing such a thing – but she was a Nun, a young innocent one at that, and he was older, wiser, he should never have laid a hand on her.

He sat down at the small desk that was tucked into an alcove of the room, his fingers shaking as he opened the letter, pulling the multiple sheets of paper free. His eyes scanned her neat script, surprise on his features as he realised that on every piece of paper was a different recipe. Despite all that had happened she had followed through with her promise of last week. Although as he considered it, that did not particularly surprise him, she had always been a woman of her word, had always put the needs and wants of others above her own.

His fingers traced the swoop of her writing, each recipe clear and concise so that even he couldn't fail to follow them successfully. His eyes scanned every word, foolishly hoping that perhaps there would be a message hidden somewhere, but there was nothing. It would appear that once again Sister Bernadette was going to be true to her word and planned to leave him be.

Patrick's hand shook at that thought. It was of course he decision and he would respect that – he cared for her too much to do anything else – but that did not ease the desolation that now settled in his chest.

Time passed quickly as he stared into space, thinking of her, torturing himself with what could have been and trying to come to terms of the reality of what was going to be, until finally Timothy's indignant voice broke the silence, "I thought I was getting toast?"

"You are," he replied, getting hurriedly to his feet. "I just lost track of time."

"As always," came the sullen quip.

"Watch your cheek," Patrick warned him tiredly, "or you'll be straight to bed."

Letting out a large, long suffering sigh, Timothy made to follow his Dad, his eyes drifting over the papers that decorated the desk, pausing for a few moments as he debated going over to look. In the end he decided against it, and instead as he stepped into the kitchen he asked, "So what was in the letter Sister Bernadette gave you?"

"You're far too nosy," came the half hearted reprimand, "but if you must now, it was recipes."

"For cooking?"

"Yes."

Timothy's face brightened. "Good, because you can't cook anything."

"I'm not that bad."

"You are, and that toast is about to burn."

"What? Oh!" He swung round, muttering as he pulled the slightly blackened toast free.

Tutting at his Dad's ineptitude, he told him, "I asked Sister Bernadette if she'd take me to the zoo, but she's not allowed. Why isn't she allowed?"

"Because Nun's take certain vows and have to live in a certain way," Patrick replied. "Surely she told you that."

"She did, but it didn't make any sense. Why do they have to live that way?"

"To show their devotion, their love to God," he replied, buttering the toast almost viciously as he spoke.

"But why? Surely being a good person and going to church is enough? Why can they not live like everyone else?"

"They just can't!" Patrick finally snapped, he did not wish to get into a theological debate about Sister Bernadette's choice, it was painful enough to live with it. He slammed the plate of toast in front of his son, simmering with hurt, rage and shame.

Timothy's little mouth pursed. "I'm not hungry anymore. I'm going to bed."

Watching his son skulk from the kitchen, Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled himself under some semblance of control. Whatever had happened, none of it was Timothy's fault, he should never have been so short tempered with him. Grabbing the plate of toast, he tipped it into the bin, the silence of the kitchen echoing around him.


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter did not go as I had planned.**

**More Timothy/Sister Bernadette interaction coming up in either the next chapter or the one after.**

**Would love to hear what you all think. Constructive criticism is welcome.**

* * *

As Sister Bernadette scanned the almost empty clinic, she heard a large "Harumph!" from the kitchen area. Her curiosity piqued, she peered round the doorway to see a rather flustered looking Chummy attempting to crouch on the floor, presumably to pick up the litany of cloth nappies that decorated the linoleum. "Do you need any help?" she asked.

Chummy's head snapped up and she let blew a strand of hair off her forehead as she replied, "I'm afraid that I do, I dropped them all and thanks to my bally bump I can't reach them."

Stepping through the beaded curtain, she dropped down to her knees and patted Chummy's hand. "Don't you worry, I'll get them."

"Oh I feel absolutely awful, a complete heel, I'm the one making the mess and you're left to clean it up!" She struggled to get upright again, almost clawing the countertop to give her the leverage she needed to get to her feet. "And the class was an absolute disaster, I dropped baby on their head trying to change it's nappy."

Sister Bernadette looked up from her task, "I hope you mean the doll," she remarked dryly.

"Oh goodness gracious yes, although it does make one wonder how I'll cope when this little bean comes along," she admitted, resting her hand momentarily on her bump.

Craning her neck to look up at the other woman, she smiled reassuringly, "I'm quite sure that when it's a real little one, you won't drop them." She straightened up, dumping the pile of cloths onto the countertop before turning her full attention to a rather anxious Chummy, who was now practically chewing on her bottom lip in worry. "I think that you will be the most wonderful mother, look at how amazing you are with the Cubs."

"They're so much bigger and more resilient than a newborn though."

"You forget, I've seen you with a newborn as well and I still don't think that you have any reason to be concerned. You're always incredibly careful with them, and I have no doubt you'll be the same with your own."

"Do you truly think so?"

"I do." She patted her elbow comfortingly, "You look tired, do you have any more patients to see?"

"No, once I've tidied up here that's me for the day."

"Well then, why don't you let me finish up here and you can get away home, put your feet up and have a nice cup of tea."

Chummy shook her head. "I can't ask you to do my work for me."

"You haven't asked me," she reassured her. "And you've been working so hard since you've come back, I think you deserve a bit of a rest."

"I can't deny that it is a nice thought."

"Well then, there you go. You get away and I'll sort these."

"But they'll take you forever," she protested, folding the nappies was the one the banes of the other nurses existence, they were so damn fiddly.

"Nonsense," Sister Bernadette snorted. "I've got years of practice at this, it will take me two minutes, so don't you worry about it." She pushed the small of her back gently, propelling her forward with the words, "Now on you go."

After a moment of dithering, Chummy finally gave a wide smile and a decisive nod, after all she was rather tired, and the ache in her back was worsening the longer she was on her feet. "Very well then." She clumsily squeezed the Nun's hand in gratitude. "Will you tell the others I've already left? I don't want them to panic."

"Of course I will," she assured her.

Once Chummy had finally left the small kitchenette, Sister Bernadette turned her attention back to the untidy pile on the counter, smiling when she heard the swish of the beaded curtains again and remarked with a lilting laugh, "Nurse Noakes, I am very close to revoking my offer, now would you just-" She turned and stopped abruptly when she saw that it wasn't Chummy in the doorway but Dr Turner.

She swallowed heavily at the sight of him, her tongue suddenly feeling as though it had grown about three sizes. Her eyes scanned his rumpled frame, her heart beating a nervous tattoo in her chest as she drank in the sight of him, his dark hair mused, sticking up at odd angles, his brown eyes tired and his expression strained. "Sister Bernadette," he acknowledged as her eyes finally met his.

For a moment it was all she could do to breath, she had seen him over the course of the last few weeks, but never alone. The wail of an anxious toddler pierced her ears and she remembered that this time they were not alone. Strangely emboldened by that thought she replied, "Dr Turner. I thought you were Nurse Noakes."

"Yes, I picked up on that." His mouth twitched ever so slightly, a touch of amusement slipping into his otherwise solemn gaze. "I wasn't aware we were that similar."

"You're not, it's just...you were teasing," she breathed after a moment, unsure whether the thought of him teasing her thrilled or terrified her; most likely both if she were honest.

"Couldn't quite help myself," he admitted, a flush of awkwardness washing over him as he looked into her unsure face. He cursed himself, things were bad enough, he had behaved badly enough without making things worse for her. He cleared his throat, his fingers twitching against his white coat as he added hurriedly, "I just thought I'd make myself a cup of tea between patients, maybe even treat myself to a biscuit, after all it's never a good idea to function on an empty stomach." God, he needed to stop rambling, but she was still staring at him with those overly blue eyes that he always felt were looking into his very soul. Striding over to the water heater, he asked, "Do you want a cup?"

She shook her head. "No thank you, I should probably get on with this."

Patrick looked at the large pile of cloth and couldn't stop himself from remarking, "Ah, I had heard you were quite the expert with those. Nurse Franklin mentioned it a few weeks ago," he added hurriedly when she looked at him with unhidden curiosity. "I think she was hoping you'd swoop in and save her from the task."

Sister Bernadette managed a smile at that. "Yes, I have heard a few of the nurse's complain about this task on occasion, what they don't seem to grasp is that practice makes perfect, and they'll never get any quicker if they wriggle out of having to do it."

Her smile eased his troubled conscience ever so slightly, it had been so long since he'd seen her smile, and longer since it had been directed anywhere near him. He gave a wry chuckle, "One of the follies of youth no doubt." His hand shook slightly as he raised the cup of tea to his mouth, taking a sip for courage, eager to prolong the conversation, desperate to right the wrongs he felt he had committed against her. Leaning against the counter he watched as she deftly folded the nappies, finally asking quietly, "How are you?"

She could feel his eyes in her back, could hear how her breathing altered in his presence and hoped that he couldn't see the mild tremor in her hand as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. "I'm well," she replied, unable to help herself from asking, "And yourself?" Part of her wished that his answer wouldn't mean as much to her as she knew that it would, but she wanted him to be well, to be happy.

"Yes, fine, everything is ticking over as usual," he told her briskly, after all how could he even begin to cover that gnawing feeling of regret and loss. He lowered his voice, and despite the fact his words were innocent and lacking any dishonourable intentions he checked the doorway was clear before adding, "I uh, wanted to thank you for the recipes."

Still she didn't turn, she couldn't bring herself to look into his earnest expression, it wouldn't help her self-resolve which was weak enough as it was. "It was no problem," she protested gently, "After all I did say that I would pass some on."

"I know, but after..." he paused, staring down into his tea as he strived to pick out the right words, eventually muttering, "recent events," he saw her pause in her task as he continued awkwardly, "well I wouldn't have blamed you if you had chosen not to go to such trouble." He still felt awful about how he had behaved, he'd been completely unrestrained, pawing at her. The memory made his cheeks flare with embarrassment.

Sister Bernadette realised that she had no choice but to face him, anything else after such words would have been cowardly. Turning, she saw his pained expression and felt her stomach tighten in guilt. Stepping slightly forward so that she wasn't quite as close to the serving hatch, her voice was a hoarse whisper as she told him, "That would have been petty, I was very much at fault before and-"

"No," he interrupted. "I was the one who was in the wrong, I don't wish you to blame yourself."

She wanted to protest, but she did not think that would soothe him in that regard, after all he was an honourable man, a gentleman and her words dissolving him of guilt would not work anymore than his words could ease hers. So instead she answered carefully, "Well, whoever was at blame, I did not see it any reason to renegade on my promise."

"And I'm very grateful, although possibly not as grateful as Timothy is; he actually smiled at the sight of his dinner last night."

Sister Bernadette smiled at that. "I'm very glad that I helped."

"You always do, and you seem to be able to do so without even realising it." She blushed crimson at his words, but he continued regardless, "I wanted to thank you earlier, but there never seemed to be the chance."

"It has been so busy of late," she told him haltingly.

"No more than usual," he pressed, unable to stop himself from adding in a slightly pained voice, "You've been avoiding me."

Her eyes slid from his. "I don't know what you mean."

"You passed the envelope onto Timothy rather than to me, you converse with me as little as possible and only when you absolutely have to," he answered, his expression tortured.

Seeing no point in any further denial, Sister Bernadette told him quietly, "I thought it for the best."

"If you are concerned about something else happening between us, you have my word that I will not allow what happened before to happen again."

She gave a sad chuckle. "I said the same thing after the first time, but it would appear that I don't have as much control as I once thought." Her eyes lifted and met his as she told him with searing honesty, "Perhaps you are more able to prevent from repeating the same thing over and over again but I don't believe I can, and I must." With her piece said, she turned away from him, feeling her eyes sting with the effort of keeping her calm facade in place. She hoped that he wouldn't say anything else whilst simultaneously hoping that he could find the words that would comfort her. At that thought she let out a shaky breath, she wanted him to hold her close as he had done before, not necessarily in passion but just because she seemed to be able to draw strength from him.

Patrick stared at her back, unsure if he was shamed or thrilled by her words. He loathed that he caused her so much torment but the thought that she wanted him as much as he wanted her...All of a sudden he was glad he'd chosen to have this conversation now, whilst the clinic was quiet but there was still a few people milling around, because otherwise he wasn't sure he would have been able to contain himself. Self hatred clawed at him, even as longing for her fizzed through his veins. He didn't know what to say to her, how to make this moment, this situation, right between them.

He was saved from any decision by Nurse Franklin's voice breaking the tense silence, the curtains swishing in her wake as she sashayed into the kitchen, announcing, "Dr Turner, Nurse Lee has asked if you'll come take a look at Mrs Hartley, she thinks that she might have whooping cough."

Placing his tea in the sink with a clumsy clatter, he told her, "Right, I'll be on my way then." He bustled past her, hoping for once that Nurse Lee's instincts were wrong, an outbreak of whooping cough was the last thing they needed.

Trixie watched him go, shaking her head after him. "I think he's gotten worse," she remarked, her lips pursed thoughtfully.

"Nurse Franklin, I really think you ought to think before you speak. Dr Turner works tirelessly for this parish and does not deserve your condemnation!" Sister Bernadette snapped testily.

Her eyes widening in surprise at the normally quiet Nun's rather peevish tone, Trixie replied, "No-one is denying that, but even you can't deny that he is more distracted than usual, he seems to have retreated into his own world." She snorted back a laugh as she joked, "One hopes it's more pleasant than Poplar."

Sister Bernadette thumped the cloth she was holding down on the counter, struggling to keep her voice calm as she asked, "Do you have any more patients to see to?"

"No, thankfully there's no-one else waiting."

"Then perhaps you can take over here," she told her firmly. "I sent Nurse Noakes home and we don't want anything left in a mess."

Trixie's mouth opened, but nothing but a disappointed squeak escaped. She hated that task and had already been subjected to it for the last three weeks. In a last ditch attempt to avoid it, she told her charmingly, "But Sister Bernadette, you're so much better at it then I am."

"Then this is the perfect opportunity for you to get up to scratch," she replied, completely unconvinced by Trixie's charm offensive.

She left the younger woman huffing and puffing, walking back out into the main part of the hall. Her head was reeling at her words, she knew that Dr Turner had always had the tendency to appear rather harassed, but then the problems of this parish would crush a lesser man's spirits, whilst a medic of less skill would be disastrous for the community, so was it any surprise that on occasion even he felt the strain. Biting down at her bottom lip, Sister Bernadette pondered Trixie's phrasing; that he'd 'gotten worse'. It was true that of late he had seemed to resurface from the absolute despair he had obviously felt following his wife's death. Surely this...she couldn't think of an appropriate description to describe what it was, between them was not sending him back into that.

The guilt and despair that had been slowly and constantly curling in the pit of her stomach intensified into a physical agony at the thought of sending him back to that. She had practically thrown herself at him and the thought that he might be eaten up by guilt because of that was horrifying to her. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't see hear the squeals of the excited children left in the hall as they kept themselves occupied, or see the little boy rushing towards her, looking backwards over his shoulder as he ran.

When the inevitable collision took place, she was taken completely off guard. Trying not to topple forward and land on the child, she attempted to take a step back, desperately trying to find her balance. Instead she caught her foot on the edge of a chair, twisting to one side and falling sideways with a short, sharp squeal of surprise that wasn't quite drowned out by the clatter of the chair hitting the floor.

Sprawled awkwardly on the floor, trying to catch her breath from knocking her side, Sister Bernadette was only belatedly aware that everyone was running towards her, while the little one who careened into her wailed at the prospect of being told off. Pushing herself into sitting position, she blinked dazedly as both Trixie and Dr Turner dropped down next to her. "Are you alright?" Trixie asked breathlessly, "that was quite a spectacular fall."

"I'm fine," she reassured her, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she should have been paying attention.

Turning her head slightly, she could see Dr Turner quickly assessing her, catching her looking at him, he told her gently, "Try not to move, now how are you feeling?" She had originally looked extremely pale, whereas now at least some of the colour was beginning to return to her cheeks.

"Fine," she told him briskly, her side was most likely bruised but she'd already recovered her breath and apart from some lingering embarrassment felt well.

"Bloody little Blighter's!" Came an exasperated yell as a heavily pregnant Mrs Hartley waddled out from behind the screens. "Ain't I warned you 'bout gettin' in folk's way." She clipped the little boy's ear, causing him to howl louder. "Now look what you've done." Giving a vigorous cough, she croaked over at Sister Bernadette, "You alright, Sister?"

"I'm fine," she called back, "I should have been looking where I was going."

She snorted. "Little Bugger would still 'ave got you. See Doctor, this is why I can't go in no maternity hospital, they'd drive my poor ma mad, and she's got that dodgy ticker."

"If you're certain that you can't be admitted, Mrs Hartley then go back in with Nurse Lee so she can arrange for us to visit you to give you some penicillin," Dr Turner called over his shoulder, exasperated that he couldn't get even a moment's peace just to check that she really was uninjured.

Giving a sigh, Sister Bernadette – tired of the attention – used his distraction as her opportunity to get to her feet, yelping in pain as she put her weight onto her left ankle, buckling as it refused to support her weight.

Both he and Trixie made to catch her, his arm slipping around her waist, holding her upright as he told her, "I don't think you should going anywhere until you've been checked over"

Feeling Trixie step back now that she was steady, she protested, "No, no, I'll be fine."

"You won't be if you try a stunt like that again," he told her impatiently. "I need to examine you."

"I need to tidy up," she answered back.

He gave a small snort, "I'd like to see you try. Now I'm sure Nurse Franklin can spare a few minutes to act as chaperone so that I can check over your ankle."

Trixie nodded. "Absolutely," she assured her, giving her a wink as she added with a giggle, "We can't have all of Poplar gossiping about you being left alone with Dr Turner here."

Dropping her head in mortification, she knew she'd lost the argument and replied, "Very well, as long as it's quick."

The walk to one of the free cubicles wasn't long, but each step had Sister Bernadette biting her lip so she didn't cry out, as she found herself inadvertently putting more and more of her weight onto Dr Turner – not that he complained.

Patrick knew that her ankle was more painful than she was letting on, her face had paled again and her breathing was somewhat harsh and laboured. Despite all this though, as he helped her up onto the bed, he mourned the loss of her warmth pressed against his body, missed the feeling of being close to her.

Trixie flounced in after them, announcing cheerily, "Shoe off, Sister, if your foot swells up we'll have to cut it off and you know how Sister Evanglina despises waste of any kind."

Reaching down to unfasten it, she saw Dr Turner divert his eyes, as though even this was far too intimate a thing for him to witness.

Trixie however wasn't finished, continuing almost gleefully, "And your stocking as well, Sister Bernadette, you know as well as I do that he needs to examine the skin as well.

Her cheeks burned red over her palid face. She knew he needed to check the colour and temperature of her skin, but she had still hoped to avoid that step. He turned away as she went to carry out the task of removing her stocking, her skin crawling with embarrassment.

Patrick waited until he heard her settled back against the examination table before turning again. The last thing he'd needed was to have the image of her removing her stocking burned into his brain. The ones given out to the Nun's were hardly the most provocative but he had a feeling it would still be a sight that would haunt his dreams. That being said, he still had to cope with her bare leg. Hearing Nurse Franklin give a sigh as she leaned against the screen, watching them with only casual interest, he knew he had to make a start.

Sister Bernadette licked her lips nervously as she felt his cool hands cup her ankle, his thumbs pressing gently into her flesh, leaving tingles wherever he touched, she almost didn't want him to stop. She inhaled sharply and he paused. "Did that hurt?" He asked, his voice strained in concern.

"No, I just...I...it's a bit uncomfortable," she finally finished awkwardly, knowing she had to say something with Trixie standing right there.

"Right." He knew that there was more to it than that, most likely she just wanted the moment over with and so he started his examination again, acutely aware of her breathing as he felt his way down her smooth, firm ankle and onto her foot. He swallowed heavily as he lifted her lower leg very gently, resting the heel of her foot in one palm, frowning when he saw that her ankle was already quite swollen and beginning to bruise. "Can you move it?"

She gingerly moved her foot back and forth, biting on her lip to stifle her moan of pain. "Yes," she got out through gritted teeth.

"Hmmm." He poked and prodded a bit more. "A bad sprain, doesn't some to be broken, or I doubt you'd be able to do even that, never mind limp over here on it." He looked back up at her and gave her a relieved smile, "Nothing that won't mend, given some time." He nodded firmly, "You'll need a couple of days bed rest of course but after that you'll be as good as new."

"Thank you, Doctor," she mumbled.

"Not a problem." He turned to Trixie, telling her, "Make sure you have her put on a cold compress and elevate her ankle when she's in bed, both will help with the swelling."

"Not a problem," she informed him. "Although," she remarked wryly, "getting her home might be."

"Of course," Patrick muttered. "I should have thought about that. If you can see that her bicycle arrives back at Nonnatus House safely please, Nurse Franklin, then I will give Sister Bernadette a lift home."

"You don't need to do that," Sister Bernadette interjected quickly.

Trixie ignored her. "Perfect, it's all sorted then."

Patrick nodded towards the silent, brooding Nun, telling her, "I'll give you a few minutes to...um...compose yourself and then as clinic is finished I'll take you straight back."

She gave a nod, watching as he hurried out, turning to Trixie and asking, "Will you and Nurse Lee manage?"

"With cleaning? Oh I suspect so," Trixie told her airily. "We might not like it," she teased, "but we'll make the best of it."

* * *

They walked in silence to his car, his arm still securely around her waist, enabling her to hobble out – she would not even entertain Trixie's ludicrous joke that he carry her. Still though, his hand felt as though it were burning through the thick layer of her coat, and she found herself wishing that she was in completely different set of circumstances, where his touch wasn't so frowned upon.

She raised her eyes upwards at that thought. What on earth was the matter with her? Why did so many inappropriate thoughts torment her whenever he was near.

He lowered her gently, almost reverently into the front passenger seat, closing the door after her before rushing round to the driver's side. As they set off, she asked over the sound of the purring engine, "Was it whooping cough?"

Patrick frowned, his mind taking a moment to register just who she was talking about. "No," he replied after a moment. "A chest infection, I wanted her to go into the maternity home, get some rest, but she refused." He gave a small shake of his head. "So many of the mother's around here put their own health at the bottom of the pile."

"I know, but I suppose they see no other option."

"It's not good enough," he replied, "The national health is meant to change that."

"And it has, but these things seldom happen overnight. Time will see things change, nothing ever stays the same."

"Very wise," he smiled. "How's the ankle?"

"Sore," she admitted. "Although I think my pride took more of a battering."

"They do say it comes before a fall," he joked.

She laughed despite herself, tutting as she told him, "That was awful."

"Yes, Timothy despairs of my jokes as well. In all serious though, I'm glad that you're not more badly injured."

"It was my own fault, I wasn't paying attention," she admitted.

"That isn't like you," he frowned.

"I was distracted." She took a deep breath before she voiced her fears, she knew it would be easier to try and push them to one side, but she found that she just couldn't. "When we spoke in the kitchen, you said that you blamed yourself, and Nurse Franklin remarked that you have been more distracted recently. I'm hoping that the two aren't connected."

He gave a deep sigh. "I wish I could tell you they aren't, but even I can't bring myself to lie to a Nun."

Sister Bernadette felt the guilt twist in her stomach. "Because you feel guilty?"

"Partly," he admitted.

"But I don't blame you," she insisted, "and I would hate to be the cause of any pain to you."

"I know you don't blame me, but I blame myself."

His hand was resting on the gearstick, and she only just stopped herself from reaching out to take hold of it, to try and comfort him. "I've told you, it was entirely my fault."

Patrick gave a wry chuckle. "You feel as bad as I do, I can see it," he told her before she could deny it, "and when I tell you that I blame only myself for what happened, does that ease your burden any?"

"No," she whispered softly. "It doesn't."

He gave a shrug. "One thing I've learned is that words very rarely assuage guilt."

"What if we both admit fault?"

"I wish it were that simple."

Her voice was shaky as she admitted, "I can't bear this."

"No, neither can I." Every time he had to pull away from her or the pain and doubt flicker across her features it felt as though someone were opening an old wound, picking off the scab so it never healed. He wanted her, wanted to love and comfort her but he had no right and it was agonising.

As they drew up to Nonnatus House, she continued, "I don't know what to do. I thought maybe time, distance would make it easier, and it doesn't."

At the note of pain in her voice, he couldn't help but reach out and take her hand in his as the car drew to a stop. His thumb rubbed soothingly over her knuckles, feeling some of his own pain lessen as she squeezed his hand back in return. He wanted to offer her his love, to tell her he'd do everything in his power to make her happy and ease any suffering she might have, but he knew that he couldn't, so instead he said nothing.

Her palm opened under his, and they both looked down to watch their fingers dance and press together, entwining slowly. Minutes passed and they stayed silent, words would only ruin this quiet moment of comfort, of solace long sought, finally found. She could stay here, she thought, could just sit here in his presence and leave everything else behind. It was with a deep, reluctant sigh that she told him, "I should go in, before anyone sees us."

Patrick nodded, withdrawing his hand from hers, feeling bereft without her touch. "I'll help you inside."

"Thank you." As he stepped out of the car, and helped her into the cool evening air, Sister Bernadette resisted the urge to cry, knowing that once she was inside she would once again be alone.

* * *

Lounging back against the kitchen chair, Trixie drew in another breath of her sly cigarette as she remarked, "Have any of you noticed how oddly Sister Bernadette has been acting recently?"

"She does seem rather quiet," Chummy remarked as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Quiet, she's practically mute. She only speaks if you ask her something." She tipped back her chair so she was over the sink and tapped the ash from her cigarette into the sink as she continued, "Dr Turner has been rather odd as well."

"He has just lost his wife," Cynthia pointed out.

"Yes, almost two years ago, and he had been better recently. Unkemptness not withstanding." She gave a sudden chuckle as she leaned forward, stage whispering, "Perhaps they are having a torrid love affair."

"Trixie!" Jenny gasped in shock. "You can't say that! What if someone heard you?""

"Pft! I'm joking! And even if I weren't I wouldn't say it out with this group." She rolled her eyes, before leaning forward with a gleam in her eyes, continuing, "But think about it, they're both acting out of sorts and she bites the head off anyone who says a bad word about him."

"She respects him," Cynthia sighed. "And you'll need more proof than that to convince us," she teased.

"Well I don't have any," she replied, smiling. "But you haven't tried to explain my example away."

Chummy shook her head. "She's very close to his son, maybe that's why she sticks up for him, because of Timothy." She picked up the cardigan she was knitting again as she continued, "That and he's a good man, he's going to help me entertain the Cubs this weekend. He knows origami."

"Oh good Lord," Trixie exhaled. "Jenny you are not allowed to back out of taking us to see Jimmy's band this weekend. We are in dire straits, we've ended up talking about implausible love affairs and paper folding, we need some excitement."

"If they were having an affair it would be pretty interesting," Jenny pointed out.

"Yes, and totally scandalous," Trixie agreed. "But I think we can agree that they are both too well behaved for anything of the sort. In fact Sister Evangelina is more likely to run away with Fred and you are more likely to get a boyfriend than that happening."


	7. Chapter 7

Timothy watched from the kitchen doorway as a thin plume of smoke emanating from his Dad's cigarette curled into the air, the disappearing vapour instantly replaced by another. His small head tilted, his lips pursed thoughtfully as he studied the scene before him.

Over the last eighteen months, he had grown somewhat accustomed to his Dad's variable moods, from his moments of quiet contemplation to his frequent bouts of harried disorder and forgetfulness, neither of which he found difficult to deal with. Everyone had their quirks and these were his, they could be incredibly exasperating – especially when they made him late for absolutely everything – but in general they rubbed along together quite well. It was just that in the last few months he had seen another side to him, and it was that that made his stomach clench uncomfortably, as though a nest of butterflies had taken nest in there.

This was one of those moments. When he stared blankly ahead of himself, seeming lost, cast adrift, like a compass missing due north. Even when his back was facing away from him, Timothy could tell from the slump of his shoulders that he was stuck in that cycle again. The small stub of the cigarette was stubbed out into the ashtray, and he watched him reach for the packet again.

Timothy stepped forward just as he heard the click of the lighter, saw his Dad's cheeks hollow as he inhaled deeply, his eyes seemingly fixed on the kitchen wall. Unable to stop himself, he looked at the same spot, seeing nothing that could possibly hold anyone's attention for so long. Clearing his throat, Timothy shuffled closer to the kitchen table.

Patrick's head snapped up, his mind taking a moment to register his son standing in his pyjamas, his hair tousled and his expression pensive as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "You should be in bed," he reminded him softly, too exhausted himself to be any harsher.

"Mum didn't like it when you smoked in the house," came the muted reply.

"I know." Patrick stared at the smouldering cigarette for a moment before stubbing it out in the ashtray. When Elizabeth had been alive she had encouraged him to only smoke in his study, and for so long, even after her death, he had kept to that. Tonight was different though, he had needed something to do, to keep himself from going mad even as his mind went round in tormenting circles, although the rush of nicotine had been unable to soothe his stresses. Holding out his arm, he felt Timothy shuffle into him, and shifted so that Timothy was balanced somewhat precariously on his knee – he was ever so slightly too big for this now, but that didn't matter for tonight. He smoothed down his hair as asked again, "So why are you out of bed?"

"I can't sleep."

"Getting up isn't going to help that. Just lie down and close your eyes, you'll go to sleep eventually."

"No I won't," he replied mulishly.

"You have school in the morning," Patrick reminded him softly.

"It's almost half term though."

He chuckled, "Almost, but not quite."

"You're still up."

"I'm a lot older than you." He heard Timothy let out a large, almost pained sigh, and a frown now taking place across his features as he asked, "Something wrong?"

Rubbing his eyes again, Timothy shrugged. "You look really sad, again. You think I don't notice, but I do."

The already gnawing guilt in his stomach intensified, as he tried to reassure him, "I'm not sad, just thinking."

"It can't be about anything nice."

"Not everything in life can be nice."

Timothy scowled, he already knew that, how could he not? And he really did feel that his Dad was trying to avoid the subject. "What is it you're thinking about?" He asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about," came the enigmatic reply.

"But I don't want you to be unhappy."

Hugging his son tightly, Patrick kissed the top of his head, mumbling, "I've told you before, as long as I've got you I can't be unhappy."

"But you're not happy."

He let out a deep sigh, he could never explain the cause of his recent malaise to his son, in fact he struggled to get his head around it himself. For years Sister Bernadette had just been a colleague, she had always been polite and he had always respected her skills and knowledge, but now, now he craved her with a passion he couldn't quite put into words. He savoured every kind word that fell from her lips and every smile that she blessed him with like a man lost in the desert who'd been given a drop of water. No, he couldn't possibly tell Timothy that it was the woman he worshipped who was the reason he seemed so unhappy. "It's a bit more complicated than just being happy or unhappy," he finally settled on. "There's a lot of different things in-between, so not being happy isn't always a bad thing."

He looked thoughtful at that statement. "So what is it you're thinking about? Maybe if you tell me I can help and you won't be stuck in the middle anymore."

"Just work," Patrick hedged uneasily.

"Oh." Timothy's frown deepened, he didn't think he could help with that. "I'm not sure how to make that better," he admitted grudgingly. His lips pursed together thoughtfully before he suggested brightly, "Maybe Sister Bernadette could help, she knows a lot."

Wanting to curse his bad luck, he struggled to keep his voice even as he replied, "Yes, she's very capable."

"So do you think she can help?"

"I wouldn't want to trouble her."

"But she's a Nun," Timothy protested, "they're meant to help people, so I'm sure she won't mind you asking."

Rubbing his temples with his fingertips, his voice terse he told him, "Sister Bernadette isn't well, so it wouldn't be right to trouble her." He felt Timothy's shoulders tense at his words and he berating himself for not wording that more carefully.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked, his voice small and afraid. It was easy to forget after all that had happened, and the way he took things in his stride that he was only nine years old, but in that moment he sounded very much his young age.

"Nothing serious," he reassured him quickly. "She fell at clinic today and sprained her ankle, she'll be as good as new in a few days."

"Good." He relaxed back against his Dad's shoulder again, stifling a yawn as tiredness finally set in as he murmured, "I'll make her a get well card tomorrow, will you make sure she gets it?"

His mouth tightened slightly at that, unsure if he was thrilled to have a reason to seek her out or petrified that he would have fight back his feelings for her whilst facing her once again. He could not bear Timothy's disappointment though, and it was that that sealed his decision, forcing him to reply, "Of course I will." He gave him a small nudge. "But you need to go to bed."

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Timothy nodded, "Ok." He got awkwardly to his feet, and after giving a wide yawn, gave his Dad a sleepy smile. "And once she's better, then you can ask her, she can help, I'm sure of it."

Patrick gave him a weak smile, telling him firmly, "Goodnight." He watched as he shuffled back to bed, waiting until he heard his soft footsteps ascend the stairs before re-lighting another cigarette, trying to soothe his frazzled nerves. Sister Bernadette's mere presence helped him more than Timothy could ever understand. She soothed him, softened the roughened edges of his very soul and healed wounds he'd long thought would remain forever open, whilst the reality of not having her, of never being able to truly love her turned like a knife in his chest.

His shoulders slumped, his head resting on his hand. In his wildest day dreams he thought about what their life together could be, of the many ways he could show her how utterly devoted he was to her. If she had been anything but a Nun he felt he may have voiced this by now, but how could he? Why would she give up her calling for a weathered, over worked G.P. who was so much older than she was? It would be madness to think she would, to even ask. Oh but how he wanted to!

The nicotine burned the back of his throat as he envisioned her face, the pain on her face, the wavering of her soft voice as she told him she could no longer bear it. Bear what? He wondered. The guilt of having broken her vows, of having given into temptation was most likely, but he could not extinguish that flicker of hope that perhaps she meant he could not live without him. He snorted with derision at the thought. That was beyond foolishness, she could never mean that.

* * *

Sister Bernadette stared at the cross fixed to the wall across from her bed, unable to sleep and unable to get onto her knees and pray. Her ankle twinged in pain and she welcomed it as a needed distraction. She sucked in a deep breath. How on earth was she meant to distract herself from her feelings without work to steal away her thoughts? She did not think she could bear days of bedrest, with nothing to do but think of him.

Her eyes filled with tears, she was so very confused, she did not know what she believed anymore, every truth she had once focussed on and drew strength from was gone, and she had no idea how to move forward.

There was a knock at her door, and she quickly swiped a lone tear off her cheek with her thumb, as she called out, "Come in."

Sister Julienne edged carefully into the room, using her elbow to nudge the door open, a mug in one hand and a plate in the other. She gave her sister a soft smile. "I thought after they day you've had you could use a treat. Some Horlicks, and don't tell Sister Monica Joan but I managed to sneak you away some of Mrs B's cherry slice."

"Thank you." Sister Bernadette managed a weak smile, taking the proffered items. She was in no way hungry but she could not deny such a kind offering. She speared off a small piece with the fork, it was delicious but it was like swallowing sandpaper."

The older woman studied her down bent face surreptitiously, seeing the slightly reddened eyes and her tightly pinched lips. "How is your ankle?" she asked kindly.

She shrugged. "It's not too bad, nothing that won't heal. I was wondering Sister, if perhaps I could still be of some help, I know I can't attend deliveries, but I can answer the phone, sterilise the equipment-"

"You are to rest in bed for at least another day, Doctor's orders," she reminded her softly.

"If I take it easy, I don't see the harm it could do." She looked at her pleadingly, her voice wavering as she added, "I can't not be active."

Sister Julienne's hand covered hers. "Sister, I do not pretend to know what ails you, or indeed make suggestions on how to fix it, but what I can tell you is that hiding from your problems in work will not make them go away."

"What will?"

"I'm not sure." She looked at her curiously, "What is it that plagues you, Sister?"

"Do you ever feel as though God has stopped listening to you?" She asked quietly.

Her eyes widened in surprise, this she had not expected, if anything the young woman had been even more devout than before. "Is it your faith that you doubt? Is that is what causes you so much pain?"

She gave a slow shake of her head, wetting her lips nervously as she struggled to find the right words. "No, I still believe in God, do not doubt his presence, just that he does not hear my prayers." Unable to meet Sister Julienne's unwavering gaze, she continued, "When I look to him for answers, for guidance I don't feel as I used to. Everything used to be so clear and now it's so muddled."

"What is it you wish to be guided in?"

Her eyes flared in panic. "I...I can't...I-"

Sister Julienne squeezed her quivering hand gently. "Do not trouble yourself, Sister, I simply wished to know so that I could attempt to help." She looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing, "I believe that sometimes God sends us answers in a way we do not expect and therefore do not always see straight away. It does not mean that he has forsaken us."

"Believe me, Sister, I have looked and I can find no answers."

"They are there somewhere, I am sure of it," she told her. "In the meantime, do you have the strength to continue looking?"

"I see no other choice." She loosened her hand from her brethren's and clumsily patted hers. "Do not worry."

Leaning forward, she kissed the younger woman's forehead, "You are family to me, I can do nothing but worry. I will pray for you though, for a swift resolution to your burden, whatever it may be. It will come, I'm sure of it."

* * *

Despite his promise to his son, Patrick found that much like the picture, the card nestled in his case, carefully folded in the front of his appointment book for over a week. Every time he had found himself about to ask if they wished him to re-check Sister Bernadette's ankle, he had lost his nerve – after all they were more than capable of looking after a mere sprain, and so he had no reason to see her.

He winced as he realised that soon the card would have no meaning, his own cowardice was robbing his son of what he had wanted to be a wonderful gesture. What to do though? That was the problem.

"Dr Turner?"

His head snapped up to see the familiar figure of Nurse Noakes in the doorway of his office. He offered her a somewhat distracted smile. "How can I help?"

"I know that Dolly Smart must rest, but I wondered if maybe barring visitors was the most effective way to achieve that?"

"It is imperative that she not be stressed in any way," he pointed out. "And fussing over a young toddler and interrogating her Father on his care will not ease her," he finished wryly.

"I accept that, but I think she will worry all the more for not knowing how young Anthony is faring. So what I thought, is that maybe, with your approval of course, we could arrange for her to see him for a few minutes each day. If Fred ensures he's neat and presentable, then we can wheel Dolly to the window and she can wave to them both. That way she can see he is well looked after without having the opportunity to bark out any instructions."

"Hmmm." He carefully considered the suggestion before replying, "It's unusual."

"Yes," she agreed, "but I think it would work. After all every patient has separate needs and is it not our job to meet those as well as treating their illness?"

Patrick smiled at that. "Very well put, Nurse. As I said, it is unusual, but I think you're right, I think it will do Mrs Smart the world of good. Are you happy for me to leave it in your capable hands?"

Chummy beamed at him. "Oh, of course, thank you, Doctor."

"No need to thank me." He watched as she made to waddle out of the door, and stopped her, suddenly asking her, "Actually, Nurse Noakes, before I go I wondered if you could do me a favour."

She turned, her amiable expression turning curious as she replied, "Of course."

He reached into his case and passed out the folded piece of colourful paper. "Timothy gave me this last week to pass onto Sister Bernadette, and I'm afraid that it slipped my mind. Could you see that she gets it? He'd never forgive me if she didn't."

"Of course I will." Chummy beamed at him broadly. "They're very close, aren't they?"

"They do seem to have struck up a friendship, yes," he replied carefully.

"I think it's lovely, I only hope I find it as easy when this little bean comes along."

Patrick felt his stomach lurch at the comparison, as much as he did not like to focus on the fact – it made him think too much on what could be in his ideal world – he had come to realise that Sister Bernadette had somehow become very much an almost motherly comfort to Timothy. "She has been very kind to him," he finally got out.

Holding it carefully, so she did not crease it, she assured him, "Well I shall make sure I give it to her."

"Ah, how is, Sister Bernadette?" He asked before she could turn to leave again. "I did think of checking on her, but did not want to call your nursing skills into question," he joked weakly.

"Thankfully for us, she's back on her feet," Chummy told him. "Although quite rightly Sister Julienne is not letting her attend calls, she is only allowed to carry out jobs that can be done at Nonnatus House."

"Quite right, it's far too soon for her to be cycling for miles."

"Yes, well I don't think she will hold out much longer. Especially if we get much busier, it seems we really can't do without her." She gave a large sigh, and added, "Well, best be on. Too much to do here to be standing about."

"Of course, thank you, Nurse Noakes, and I'd be grateful if you'd pass my best onto Sister Bernadette." Patrick watched her go, feeling very much like he'd taken the cowards way out. He shook his head at that thought, surely it would cause her more trouble if he were to go and see her himself? And he could not bear to be the bringer of yet more pain and doubt to her.

* * *

"You look tired," Sister Bernadette remarked as Chummy placed her bag onto the table.

"I am," she admitted, "Little Anthony is adorable but I never realised how difficult it was to keep a toddler clean for even a few minutes. I turned my back once and he had fallen over and scrapped his knee." Her face creased in concern, "It makes me wonder how I'll be able to manage, although God never gives us more than we can handle, does he?"

"No, no he doesn't," she replied, although of late she hadn't been so sure on that respect. "Well I'll do these, you go and get yourself a tea and out your feet up."

"That sounds bliss," she sighed. "Although before I go, I have something for you." She snapped open her work bag and carefully extracted the home made card. "From Timothy Turner, Dr Turner asked me to pass it along today."

A smile tugged at her lips at the colourful drawings that decorated the front page. She opened it, her smile growing as she read the message on the inside. "Very sweet of him," she murmured.

"It is. It's also a tad late, I think it must have escaped Dr Turner's mind. Although he did pass on his best wishes."

"He did?" she echoed, not entirely convinced that he did forget about Timothy's gift this time round.

"Mmmm, do you want me to bring you through some tea?" She asked, rubbing her back.

"No, thanks." Sister Bernadette eyed her in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine, another Braxton Hicks I expect." She gave a small stretch and sighed, "I might just go for a lie down."

Sister Bernadette watched her go with a worried look, she sometimes worried that Chummy was doing far too much, but then that wasn't her decision to make, and she knew Sister Juliette had already spoken to her about cutting back her hours and she had politely declined.

Sighing, she looked back at the card, thought about the little boy who had put so much care and attention into it and his Father who had no doubt dithered for the last week over whether to give her this in person, and for the first time she found herself wondering if she were truly on the right road.


End file.
